


Another Constellation to Trace

by screwstyles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bets & Wagers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, No Angst, Paediatric Physiotherapist Harry, Producer Louis, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screwstyles/pseuds/screwstyles
Summary: Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m winning that bet.”“What bet?” comes Niall’s excited voice from behind them, followed by footsteps. “I wanna be in on the bet!” he shouts, prompting Harry to quickly roll down his shirt sleeve and straighten his shirt where it’s still crinkly after Louis’ hands.Niall takes one look at them and purses his lips in a tight line. “Were you guys making out again? Isn’t the fire meant to die down a bit after eight years?”“Trust me, the fire is still very much alive,” Louis winks at Harry. “One could even say it’s cooking something.”-Mpreg AU: Louis and Harry bet on who can keep Harry's pregnancy a secret for longer. Neither of them is particularly good at it, and it doesn't help that their soulmate tattoos make it even harder.





	Another Constellation to Trace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabuloushazza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabuloushazza/gifts).



> Hello fabuloushazza! You asked for fluff, so here is 12K of pure fluff. I hope this lives up to your expectations, it was certainly much fun to write. 
> 
> A massive massive thank you to Kelli, who beta'd this for me super quick and left me lovely comments to read. You're a star.
> 
> I know nothing about physiotherapy so if my google-sourced information is wrong I will dutifully accept any yelling. Also this was meant to focus completely on the bet but I kept getting sidetracked and ended up writing a million extra fluff scenes, so. Toothbrushes at the ready?
> 
> Title is a slightly modified lyric from Love Is Crazy by Childish Gambino.

It’s twenty-eight degrees outside, humid and sticky and lacking the tiniest of breezes at all, and Harry is _frying_. His body attracts more heat than any cold water can dissipate and as a result, he can feel droplets of sweat slowly making their way down the backs of his knees, his neck and his wrists. He’s been lying completely still on his towel for the past ten minutes, afraid to blink an eye, but so far, he’s had very little luck in trying to cool his body down. Even the few blades of grass that tickle his feet where the towel doesn’t reach past his knees feel like tiny fire swords.

Niall, on the other hand, seems to have very little concern for his discomfort.

“Harry, I need you to go get me an ice cream.”

He kicks Harry in the shin from his position beside him, equally stretched out on his blanket and stubbornly trying to get a tan. He won’t succeed, and Harry is already expecting the moany call from him this evening when his “tan” turns out to be a burn, but for now, he’s too damn hot to care about Niall’s sun-prohibiting genes.

“Mmm,” Harry hums at him, afraid that if he actually moves his mouth, his face will lose another wave of coolness he imagines he can feel if he pretends hard enough.

“I need you to get us an ice cream?” Niall tries again. Even though Harry has his eyes closed, he can practically see Niall staring at him from beneath his sunglasses, chest a lovely shade of lobster. “Please?”

“There’s plenty of ice cream at mine,” Harry replies. There is also an air conditioner, which he is more concerned about right now. “I’ll even let you have two if we leave in the next thirty seconds.” Harry can already feel another droplet of sweat forming on his upper lip. He knew talking was a bad idea.

“If you think you’re being sneaky, it’s not working,” Niall whines, and Harry is sure that if it wasn’t so bloody hot, he would be on the receiving end of another kick. At least there’s one good thing about the heat.

Niall’s been trying to get one of the guys to come with him to the park for weeks now, talking about the pretty girl walking her dog every Saturday morning while Niall went for his morning run. He had been so insistent that Harry had taken pity on him, promising to come with. That was _before_ the sudden heatwave, though. They had decided to swap the run for an impromptu tanning session, grabbing beach towels and water bottles and making themselves comfortable on the grass.

What Harry underestimated, though, was just how hot it is.

“We’re not leaving until my future wife shows up,” Niall continues, ignorant to Harry’s misery.

“You know, if you actually talked to her you’d find out whether she’s your soulmate or not. This pining from afar business is unbecoming,” Harry whines. “One word is all it takes, Niall. You’ll see whether your bunny gets company, and then you can either bother her instead of us or move on.”

Just mentioning Niall’s soulmate tattoo makes him itch to check on his own deer, currently snugly hidden by the long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing. He had told Niall this morning it was because his skin was too sensitive to go sleeveless in direct sunlight, but even if that was true, he would have damned his skin already and stripped off the shirt by now. Instead, he damns one Louis Tomlinson, husband and root of all of his current problems.

“I like the suspense,” Niall replies petulantly, and Harry hears him rolling over onto his front. “Admire from afar, look but don’t touch, all that stuff. Don’t wanna break the spell.” 

Harry huffs. “You don’t even know if there is a spell, that’s my whole point.” He’s sure if his eyes were open, he would find himself on the receiving side of a very stormy look. He keeps his eyes closed.

“Shh, here she comes!” Niall shushes him, and when Harry sits up to have a look, he finds Niall’s chin propped up in his palms, elbows bent on the towel. “Isn’t she just dreamy?” 

Harry looks in the direction Niall is facing, seeing a tall brunette girl walking in through the gates of the park, a dark brown boxer trailing behind her. She’s objectively pretty, with kind features and her hair in two Dutch braids, but Harry doesn’t find her to stand out – then again, he’s not meant to. 

Judging by the sigh Niall releases, he’s clearly enamoured.

“I can’t wait for our wedding. We’ll have it on a beach in Italy and we’ll serve pizza for the main course. She looks like a pizza lover, doesn’t she?”

Harry hums noncommittedly, at least ninety percent sure that even if he responded, Niall wouldn’t hear him. The girl is walking towards them, and when her gaze strays towards Harry and Niall, she gives Niall (Harry assumes) an acknowledging nod, continuing on her way. Niall’s foot starts vibrating uncontrollably.

“You alright there?” Harry asks, setting a calming hand down on Niall’s calf.

“Not even a little bit,” Niall answers and dramatically flops back down onto the towel.

*** 

When they finally make it inside Harry and Louis’ house, Niall instantly excuses himself for a wee and makes a beeline for the loo. He’s barely out of sight when Louis pads into the hallway, giving Harry a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi, baby,” he greets him, touching his bicep slightly before dropping down to his knees in front of Harry. He pushes up Harry’s shirt to reveal his whole tummy, spreading his palms on Harry’s hips and dropping a kiss to the skin just below the navel, too. “And my other baby.”

“Your offspring nearly caused me to become human steak today,” Harry complains, dutifully extending his arm when Louis is back on his feet again and lifting Harry’s wrist gently up to himself. He peels the white fabric of the sleeve back, revealing Harry’s soulmate tattoo where two deer are currently napping curled up together, one of them with a slightly bigger belly. It’s not much, but up close the pregnancy is noticeable even if Harry himself is yet to see any physical changes to his body.

Louis rubs the two deer affectionately with his thumb.

“Technically, that’s your own fault. You could always accept defeat and lose the bet like I know you eventually will,” he smirks. His eyes crinkle up with it, and if Harry wasn’t so annoyed with him, he would snog him senseless.

“You talk a big game for someone with a million sisters that never lose a bet against their older brother. You’re a big softie and I know you’ll let me win.”

Louis smiles, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and leaning in. Just as Harry is about to meet him halfway for a kiss, Louis ducks down and whispers in Harry’s ear, “Not in a million years.” He erupts into laughter, Harry pushing at his chest gently, mock-offended.

“Hope you’re ready to get your arse kicked, Tomlinson,” Harry threatens, but there’s no heat behind it.

“Right back at you, Tomlinson.” Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I’m winning that bet.”

“What bet?” comes Niall’s excited voice from behind them, followed by footsteps. “I wanna be in on the bet!” he shouts, prompting Harry to quickly roll down his shirt sleeve and straighten his shirt where it’s still crinkly after Louis’ hands.

Niall takes one look at them and purses his lips in a tight line. “Were you guys making out again? Isn’t the fire meant to die down a bit after eight years?”

“Trust me, the fire is still very much alive,” Louis winks at Harry. “One could even say it’s cooking something.” Harry shoots him a warning look, but when he looks at Niall, he’s just furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Don’t wanna know about your kinky shit,” he mutters. He makes his way to their freezer in the kitchen and helps himself to ice cream, taking out and inspecting three varieties before settling on a Twix bar. 

“I’ve decided I’ll talk to her next week,” he announces to the room at large, shutting the door to the freezer and sprawling out on the kitchen chair. Harry moves to put the rejected pile back into the cold. “But I’ll need mental support, so one of you guys has to come with me. We can even make it a nice tanning session again!” he exclaims, full of energy. 

“That sounds nice,” Louis agrees, and Harry can already see the cogs turning in his head. _Don’t do it,_ he wants to scream at him, but it’s too late before he goes on. “Harry could use another break in the sun, so he’ll happily go with you.” Louis turns to him. “Won’t you, Harry?”

Harry stares at him, unimpressed and about to make up an excuse, until he sees Niall’s face light up. “You’ll be great! You’re so good at this stuff, I’d love your advice,” he enthuses.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Harry promises and vows to get Louis back.

***

Next Saturday arrives way too quickly. Harry can’t exactly use the same excuse as last week, so instead looks at the deer on his forearm apologetically before wrapping them up in gauze tape. He’ll just say he sprained his arm and hope Niall won’t notice that no one has seen his or Louis’ soulmate tattoos for the past two months now.

He loves the constant reminder of belonging to his soulmate, of their little growing family and how the deer reflect their lives, but sometimes they’re just a bit too revealing. He could probably get away with saying he’s gained a bit of weight recently, but he doesn’t want to risk it. So, gauze tape it is. 

When he gets to the park, Niall is already spread out on a thick beach mat on the grass, a wooden basket sat on top. Harry can see Tupperware boxes sticking out of it, containing what he assumes to be a variety of snacks. He wouldn’t be surprised if halfway through the morning Niall asked him to leave so he could continue his little picnic with the girl.

One look at his face, however, tells him no such thing will happen. Niall is sitting on one corner of the mat, picking at his nails and tapping his foot against the mat. His face looks greenish even behind the sunglasses he’s wearing, which nearly makes another wave of morning nausea stir low in Harry’s stomach. Niall jumps up comically when he hears Harry approach.

“Alright there, Nialler?” Harry asks, taking off his shoes and making himself comfortable next to Niall, stretching out his torso. Niall looks at him with his nose scrunched up.

“I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea,” he groans and buries his face in the mat, running his hands through his hair. Harry reaches out to pat him on his shoulder, mindful of his hand going anywhere near his mouth in case of impromptu vomiting.

Harry rifles through the basket Niall brought with him and finds an orange Gatorade sitting amidst other refreshments. He opens the bottle and taps it against Niall’s cheek.

“Here, have some, the electrolytes will do you some good,” he explains. When Niall lifts his head up to have a drink, but stubbornly keeps his hands on the mat, Harry proceeds to feed him like a baby. It’s good practise, which might be a metaphor for their whole relationship anyway. “You’ll be fine. Soulmate or not, you’ll find yours eventually.”

Niall nods and has another few sips of the Gatorade. He’s not sure whether the colour is starting to come back to his cheeks or whether he’s seeing what the wants to see, but Niall seems a bit more chipper.

“My auntie still hasn’t found hers and she’s nearly sixty,” Niall mutters. Harry suspects it’s to either be difficult, or for Harry to keep doting on him, or perhaps both.

“Is this the same auntie who refuses to go outside because she thinks opening the door or windows will have a negative impact on the Feng Shui in her house?”

“She lives in the shady part of Ireland, Harry!” Niall all but yells, turning around. Harry shoves the bottle at him. 

“Keep drinking, it’s clearly helping you,” Harry says and watches as Niall chugs back another few gulps. He barely has time to set the bottle down when Harry has to point him towards the other end of the park where the girl is now walking through the gate, her dog behind her. Niall perks up immediately, shuffling around on the blanket and nearly dislodging Harry in the process.

“Oh, god, she looks even more beautiful than I remembered,” Niall sighs, scrambling to get up. He throws a look at Harry as if silently asking for encouragement. 

“You’ve got this, just go and ask her about her dog or something and see whether your bunny gets company,” Harry smiles, gently pushing at Niall’s ankle with his toes. Niall breaths in and out, and then he’s off.

Harry’s watches him make his way to the girl. He can’t see his expression, but the girl looks friendly enough when she presumably greets him and as Niall crouches down to scratch the dog behind its ear. They seem to be talking from what Harry can see, and he decides to give them some privacy, instead fishing out his phone from his pocket and opening Snapchat to send a picture to Louis.

He switches the camera to selfie mode and pulls an exaggerated sad face, adding a water drop emoji below the corner of one eye, and types ‘niall is stroking the dog, what will we do when he gets married and starts his own kennel’. He’s presses send and starts going through the filters, sending the funniest ones to Gemma and Louis. He receives one back from Gemma but doesn’t have time to click it open before Niall’s shadow towers over him.

“I take it she’s not the one since you’re back so quickly?”

Niall shakes his head but doesn’t look put off about it. If anything, he’s smiling as he goes elbow-deep into the picnic basket.

“No, Stella and her girlfriend have dolphin tattoos, but she gave me her number and said I can take Cheddar out for a walk anytime I want,” he says, happily exclaiming when he finds a box of Roundies. “Oh, and apparently her friend has a bunny tattoo a bit like mine, so she said she’ll try and set us up.”

“You don’t look very put off?” Harry asks cautiously, taking a cookie when Niall offers him one.

“Who knows, maybe it’s not my time. If I get a new friend and a new dog to hang out with in the meanwhile, it’s not a bad bargain, is it?” he shrugs. He looks casual as ever and genuinely happy, and Harry’s a bit envious he can take waiting for a soulmate so well. Then again, when you meet your soulmate at seventeen, it doesn’t leave much time for pining – Harry barely had time to adjust to the idea of having another half before Louis occupied his every thought.

“That’s the spirit!” Harry agrees jovially, reaching for another cookie. Niall moves to smack him in the forearm before thinking better of it and giving it a suspicious glare.

“What happened to your forearm anyway?” he asks. Harry nearly chokes on his remainder of a cookie, coughing to not inhale the crumbs. 

“I, uh, I sprained it during footie,” Harry stammers, saying the first excuse that comes to mind. He really should have thought this through beforehand.

Niall lifts one eyebrow. “Not your ankle?” 

Harry feels his face heat up but does his best to maintain his composure. “No. My forearm. I sprained. Uhh. I sprained my forearm, yeah, uh, I fell on it,” he says in quick succession, aware of how closely Niall is watching him. 

“You fell on your forearm, but your wrist is fine?” Niall asks. Harry’s head whips down to look at his forearm where indeed the gauze tape doesn’t cover his wrist at all, which would’ve made sense because who falls on their forearm while playing footie and doesn’t damage their wrist?

Harry nods. Niall stares. Harry’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, he will dig himself into a deeper hole and then he’ll lose the bet, so mum he stays.

Niall narrows his eyes at him, but eventually lets up.

“Fine. Cookie?” he offers. 

Harry takes the cookie and creates a mental reminder to get rid of all the ones at home. It’s Louis’ turn to be inconvenienced for once.

***

The next morning finds Harry awake at six a.m., which is all kinds of inconvenient since he was planning on sleeping in before the week starts. His stomach churns and there’s sweat beading at his temple, which can only mean one thing, and before he’s fully awake, he’s running into the ensuite and doubling over in front of the toilet.

He still can’t quite get used to waking up like this, or more so the fact that there’s life inside him, that morning sickness means he’s got a baby in his tummy. When the nausea lets up, he sits back on his haunches and rubs at his tummy soothingly.

“Let’s not make a habit of this, little darling,” he whispers and tilts his head into the touch when he feels nimble fingers work into his hair. He didn’t hear Louis come in.

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to wake up every time, Lou,” Harry says, and as much as it’s true, he also finds his husband’s presence incredibly soothing. “I’ll probably be back to sleep in ten minutes.” 

“You have, yes, but I want to. Besides, the tattoo was squirming as well, which doesn’t make for optimal sleeping conditions.” He scratches at Harry’s scalp gently.

“Yeah, mine too. Seems to have calmed down now,” Harry answers, hand still on his tummy. “Go to bed. I’ll brush my teeth and join you. Want my big spoon ready for me.” He smiles up at Louis, and they share a quiet moment just looking at each other, their lips curved up. Harry stretches his torso to place a small kiss to Louis’ bare knee and gets up to reach for the toothbrush.

When he gets back in bed, he wastes no time worming in between Louis’ arms, making himself comfortable between them and slotting their legs together. Louis’ arms curve around him immediately, one finding a place on Harry’s stomach both as a calming and protective gesture.

“Love you,” he mutters into Harry’s neck, and Harry barely has time to respond before sleep takes him.

The second time Harry wakes up, it’s also because of his stomach. Judging by the light streaming in through the tiny sliver of a gap where Louis never pulls the drapes tightly enough together, it’s past nine a.m. It’s been getting lighter earlier and earlier as they approach summer, but Harry thinks he still has a good grasp on how to judge time by the amount of daylight.

Louis is wrapped around him like a koala, his fingers slightly gripping at Harry’s hip pudge where his hold must have slipped to during the morning, and he keeps exhaling warm puffs of air into Harry’s hair. Any other morning, this would be the perfect position to wake up to, often is, but today – 

“Lou,” Harry says, turning around to face Louis. He looks peaceful, so lovely and serene that Harry nearly feels bad for waking him up. There are pressing matters to attend to, though. “Louis, babe, wake up,” he says, placing a palm on his jaw and carefully tracing the line of his cheekbone with his thumb. Louis’ eyelashes flutter, but he keeps his eyelids firmly closed.

“Lou, your baby needs you,” Harry says dramatically, nearly whining. It works, too. Louis snaps his eyes open, rubs at them for a second before his gaze focuses on Harry. 

“You or the real baby?” he asks, but nevertheless gets up onto his elbows, his eyes sweeping over Harry.

“I am a real baby, too,” Harry pouts for a second before schooling his expression into something more pleading. “Technically, both. Listen, I had a dream.”

Louis groans. “Oh, no. Did you just wake me up to tell me about your dream?”

“No, Lou, listen. I had a dream, and in this dream, I was eating gherkins in honey–,“ Louis scrunches up his nose adorably at that, but Harry doesn’t let it distract him, “– and then I woke up, and my stomach was empty and I thought, hey, we have gherkins and honey. So guess what?”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Louis is answering him with a sour look on his face. “So, you woke me up to go and get you some?” Harry beams at him, knowing his dimples are currently in full-force.

“And you couldn’t go and get them yourself?”

“Don’t be daft, I’m pregnant!” Harry squawks, pressing a hand to his heart in mock astonishment. Louis shakes his head at him fondly, but diligently crawls out of the bed and stands up. Harry whistles suggestively when Louis turns around and his naked arse jiggles as he walks, to which Louis flips him off.

“None of that. If you’re too lazy to go get your own disgusting snacks, you’re too lazy to look at or touch my bum,” Louis shouts from somewhere in the near vicinity of the kitchen (or so Harry hopes).   

When he gets back, a jar of gherkins in one hand and honey in the other, Harry still gets a polite grope in. Louis only complains a little.

*** 

When Harry officially passes the three-month mark, Louis wakes him up with kisses and a cactus. He expects one of those things and accepts it happily when Louis presses their lips together, but when Louis starts wielding a spiky plant in front of his face, he’s less than amused.

“Is this some kind of new foreplay? Are you trying to spice things up with cacti? Because honestly, I’m not sure I’m into that,” Harry says into Louis’ mouth when Louis leans in for another peck.

Louis rearranges himself on top of Harry, carefully avoiding his nonexistent bump and settling on his hips. Once he manages to balance himself with one hand, he shoves the cactus at Harry, hovering it in front of his mouth.

“Bite it,” he tells him and doesn’t explain further. He looks incredibly excited, lips curved up in a self-satisfied smile and eyebrows slightly cocked, the way only Harry has learnt to notice over a long period of knowing each other.

Harry carefully extracts his hand from below the blanket and, avoiding the cactus that is _still in front of his face,_ reaches out to place a palm on Louis’ forehead.

“Do you have fever? Are you feeling dizzy?” he asks, looking at Louis. “If you give me five minutes, I can drive you to the doctor’s.”

Louis violently shakes his head, and if Harry wasn’t so confused, he would be impressed at the rotation degree he achieves. “No, I don’t need a doctor, Harry,” he says, clearly straining a lot to maintain his voice patient. “Bite it.”

“I’m not going to bite it, Louis!” Harry squeals, directing his gaze at the cactus. It’s very spiky.

Louis looks very unimpressed.

“Harry, I promise I’m not insane,” he pleads, shaking the cactus in his hand. “Have I ever let you down?” 

Before Harry says that yes, he has (like the time he forgot to check the tyre pressure and Harry ended up with a flat tyre in the middle of a McDonald’s in his pyjamas at three a.m. in the freezing cold in January because Louis was drunk off his arse and really wanted chicken nuggets), Louis sneaks a hand to cover his mouth.

“Please, baby. Just,” he pushes his bottom lip out and widens his eyes, “bite it.” He removes his hand but keeps the earnest facial expression.

And because Harry trusts Louis above everyone else, would trust him to jump off a cliff into stormy waters, he takes a bite. 

It’s more pleasant than he expected, which doesn’t say much given that he really didn’t expect it to be pleasant at all. Either way, as his mouth closes around the little plant, he finds it’s not a plant at all but instead an extremely realistic cupcake replica, which tastes absolutely _delicious_. Harry indulges for a minute, licking up the cream and savouring the sweetness of it. Then, he looks at Louis and puts on a cross face.

“Why exactly did you see fit to try and wake me up with a heart attack? I genuinely thought I was gonna end up in the hospital with a prickly tongue.” He giggles when he realises what he’s said, breaking his cool façade, and Louis joins him, dropping down a bit from where he’s still perched on Harry’s hips.

“Not usually a problem for you,” Louis bursts out, setting Harry into another fit of giggles. They need a minute to calm down and catch their breath, and once they do, Harry composes himself.

“You’re not off the hook, Louis,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Louis, for his part, looks delighted that Harry asked. 

“Well, I was doing some reading during my lunch break last week, about pregnancies and nutrition and exercise and the baby’s development, you know,” he explains animatedly. “And then there was this website which described how big the baby was at each stage, and they did comparisons to all kinds of stuff, but it said that at thirteen weeks the baby is the size of a mini cactus. So,“ Louis shrugs a little, “I thought it was very cute and it stuck with me, so I decided to celebrate passing the first trimester with something cactus related. When I googled, the cupcakes came up so I just… had to have them for you.”

Harry thinks he’s very sweet, and he does have to admit they look extremely realistic, spikes and ridges perfected to a T.

“Thank you, darling. Me and the mini cactus in my tummy appreciate the sentiment, even if you did nearly cause us heartburn.” He smiles and leans up a bit to reach Louis’ lips, kissing his gratitude into them. 

He has another bite, this time with less fear and more excitement behind the action. It actually tastes like it’s been made with some cactus extract, which Harry appreciates, _but_.

“Louis, these are a bit too good for me to believe you made them,” Harry says, looking Louis dead in the eye. He’s still sitting in his lap, looking extremely satisfied.

Now, Louis has the decency to look guilty.

“I didn’t actually make them,” he says, biting his lip. “I thought it would cause you more pain than pleasure when you’d no doubt eventually find the kitchen in a state, so I ordered them from the bakery down the street,” he confesses. “Went to pick them up while you were still asleep. 

“But it’s a Monday, which means you have to be at work at nine, and I know the closest bakery is a twenty-minute ride away, plus you take at least half an hour to get to work, so… you woke me up at six a.m. to present me with a cupcake?” Harry asks, torn between fondness for his husband’s commitment to surprising him and annoyance for being up so early. If he deserves one thing as the pregnant partner, it’s sleep.

Louis is clearly trying to suppress a smile, but Harry can see right through him.

“Baby, it’s past eleven. I got the day off to spend with you. There’s proper brekkie on the table, and then we’re going baby shopping,” he explains.

Harry’s heart melts. He’s been so busy opening his second paediatric physiotherapy practice and trying to not blow his cover that he completely forgot about time being a thing. Well, _forgot_ isn’t exactly the word – more like one day he was still peeing on a stick and the next one, he hit the second trimester.

Still, he can’t refuse the opportunity to tease.

“We’re going shopping for a baby?” Harry asks airily, widening his eyes comically and dropping his mouth open. “Oh, finally, Lou! I always pass that shop on my way to work and see their chubby cheeks and want to get one,” he crosses his fingers together and sways his arms dramatically.

Louis shakes his head, lips curved up and eyes sparkling, and attacks Harry’s sides with his fingers, digging them in and tickling between his ribs. “That’s enough out of you. I’m trying to treat you and what do I get in return? You make fun of me!”

At this point Harry is squirming and giggling, trying to twist away from Louis’ insistent fingers that have over the years learnt just the right way to make him suffer. Louis, though, looks incredibly satisfied as he lays into Harry again, causing Harry to try and lift up his knees to cover up his sides, which in turn dislodges Louis and he falls down next to Harry, laughing and letting up.

Harry quickly moves to straddle Louis while he’s distracted, and once he has Louis pinned down, leans in to kiss him. They’re both still smiling so wide that their teeth clink as their lips press together, and Harry has to back away to let out another giggle. Then, he proceeds to kiss Louis properly.

“Love it when you treat me,” he murmurs against Louis’ mouth. “Love it when you wake me up with sweets and a heart attack. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” Louis answers. “But I’ve made breakfast, and it’s getting cold, and if we don’t leave the bed now, I’m gonna spend the whole day snogging you right here.”

Harry doesn’t see the problem with that. “I don’t see the problem with that.”

Louis slaps him gently on the arm and points towards the bedroom door. “Up, you menace. I won’t have my efforts go to waste.”

When Harry tackles him down for another kiss, he doesn’t protest too much.

***

The next day, Harry has an appointment with Julia. She’s ten and has been coming in for regular appointments for two years now – she’s a ballet dancer, and despite the pain in her ankles, she’s stubborn enough to continue dancing through it. 

She hops up onto the table with practised ease and lays down, hands folded underneath her head.

“Hello, Mr Harry!” she greets him happily and extends her ankle to him. By now, Harry sees it for the no-nonsense attitude that it is instead of rudeness as he had first thought.

“Hello, sweetpea,” Harry greets her in turn, smiling and gripping her ankle gently. “What’s the news in Julialand?”

She starts off a story about some girl in her class who dyed her hair recently and how she wants to dye hers blue now. Harry shares a glance with her mother who’s shaking her head at Julia, an amused look in her eyes.

Harry works at her ankle for a while, asking her to flip over once his ultrasound wand has heated up. She barely pauses before continuing with another story, and Harry pitches in at appropriate intervals to show her he’s still listening.

The appointment passes by rather quickly, and when their time is up Harry gets Julia to stand, rewarding her with a sticker of her choice. She chooses a purple octopus and sticks it onto her arm, then looks at Harry with narrowed eyes, scanning him closely.

“I think you’ll look very pretty with a penguin,” she finally says. “May I?” she peels off said sticker and holds it up, placing it right in the middle of his cheek when he leans down a bit. 

“How do I look?” Harry smiles at her, straightening back up and tilting his wrists outwards, waiting for her judgement.

“Like you have a sticker on your face,” she says and sticks out her tongue playfully. “Also like you’ve gained some weight.”

“Julia!” her mother chastises her immediately. “What do I tell you? If you can’t fix it in five seconds…?”

“Don’t bring attention to it,” Julia rolls her eyes. “I didn’t say it in a bad way, mum!” she argues and points to Harry’s belly. “Mr Harry’s just a bit rounder than the last time I saw him.”

Her mother looks mortified, and while under other circumstances Harry might not be happy about his apparently obvious weight gain, now it only makes him smile wider.

“That’s okay, sweetpea, I know you didn’t mean any harm by it,” he says and waves her goodbye as her mother drags her out of Harry’s office, no doubt to have a talk with her daughter.

He goes to stand in front of the mirror and, tightening his shirt into a knot and tucking it into his trousers, splays his hands across his belly. Apart from the usual bit of pudge on his waist, he can’t see much of a difference straight on, so he turns sideways instead. It’s more noticeable this way, and he can’t believe he waited for it to be pointed out by someone else to see the changes to his own body. 

His belly is a bit rounder, particularly with the shirt as tight as he’s made it, like maybe he skipped gym a few times and went all out on some pasta. He supposes his stomach muscles – which he was quite proud of until he found out about the pregnancy – had made it impossible for the bump to grow much in the first few months, but now it’s unmistakably there.

When he tries to cup it, though, it really doesn’t feel much different. His stomach sort of feels bloated, but not in the queasy way, and he finds himself a bit disappointed. He supposes he’ll soon have literal months to cup his baby bump all he wants, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to have one already.

He grabs his phone from where it sits behind his computer screen so as to not distract him, then rolls up his shirt and snaps a picture of his reflection. He sends it to Louis, captioning it _did you leave the oven on? because the bun is baking!_ and gets back a selfie of Louis’ unimpressed face, followed by seven (Harry counts) sparkling heart emojis. 

***

 It seems Louis has become obsessed with cacti. Their house keeps steadily accumulating an impressive range of cactus shaped paraphernalia, starting from the candles Louis couldn’t resist because ‘ _they were half price off, what was I meant to do, Harry_?’ to curtains with a cartoon cactus print to form a canopy above the baby’s crib. They now even have a cactus shaped tea pot, which is actually pretty ugly as far as cacti go, and which Harry is forced to see every time he wants a cuppa. Harry has contributed to exactly zero of the items, but somehow, they keep multiplying.

It’s now been a week since Louis’ cactus awakening (Louis’ words, not Harry’s), and although according to the same website the baby is now more of a bicycle bell than a cactus, Louis won’t let the idea die. 

In fact, Louis’ fascination bordering on obsession has got so far into Harry’s mind, that the next Tuesday he wakes up to a cactus on his body.

“Louis,” he shakes Louis awake, not taking his eyes off his skin. “Louis, wake up,” he kicks his leg a bit to find Louis’ shin and gets some muttering in response. Once Louis realises Harry is no longer in his arms but has sat up against the headboard and is wide awake, he stirs a bit more. 

“Whassit?” he asks Harry, presumably shuffling around in the sheets, if the noise he makes is anything to go by.

“Louis,” Harry repeats, wanting all of his husband’s attention. Louis sits up and faces Harry, still blinking sleepily but considerably more alert now. “Look what you’ve done,” Harry says and extends his arm towards Louis. “Look at Hazel,” he says, pointing to the deer on his arm.

“What’s wrong with Hazel?” Louis wonders, examining Harry’s soulmate tattoo. Harry, annoyed Louis isn’t seeing the problem, points at the slightly rounder deer.

“Look at her! She now has a cactus!” Harry can’t take his eyes off of his tattoo. It’s bad enough that cacti have taken over his home, but now they’re so ingrained into his mind that apparently his soulmate tattoo feels the connection. “I woke up ten minutes ago to my tattoo itching only to see Leo–,“ he points to Louis’ equivalent deer, “gifting Hazel a potted cactus, and she’s been curled up around it ever since.”

Harry looks at Louis to see his reaction, but is only met with raised eyebrows. “Darling, you know how soulmate tattoos work, right?” he asks Harry. Harry frowns at him. “If it’s important to us, or relevant to our lives, it’ll show up there,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal. It _is_ a big deal to Harry, though.

“This is your fault,” he pouts, gently stroking Hazel and glaring at Leo and Louis in turn.

“Look at mine,” Louis says instead and offers up his own tattoo. His deer, whom he decided not to name (a great tragedy, in Harry’s opinion), are strolling around their own cactus. “I’ve had it there for three days now,” he confesses calmly. “I just… really like the cactus idea, and when the baby is finally born, it’ll remind me of the times when it was tiny and still in your tummy. So it’s important to me.”

Harry’s face relaxes a bit, and he reaches out to touch Louis’ tattoo, petting at it with small movements. “It’s fine. It won’t be there forever, right? I overreacted, I’m sorry.”

Louis hums in response. “No, it won’t, just for a little while. Remember when you were still in uni and couldn’t memorise the name of some nerve in the thigh and studied so hard that Hazel ended up writing it down on your skin?” he chuckles at the memory. Harry can’t help but join in.

“The iliohypogastric nerve,” Harry nods in agreement. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I wasn’t allowed to take the exam because they thought I had written it myself. Had to resit in August, the bastards,” Harry mutters, but there’s little malice behind it.

“Mmm,” Louis hums and places a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek. “You still okay to pick me up from work tonight? Steve said he has to be home by seven, so I reckon we’ll be done by half six if not earlier,” he changes the topic.

 “Yeah, should be fine. And we can get takeaway for dinner?” Harry asks hopefully.

“You know what they say about great minds,” Louis winks at him.

When Harry parks outside of Louis’ studio not twelve hours later, he does so in a completely new outfit. On his lunchbreak he decided to go shop for some looser clothing in case his friends come to the same conclusion as Julia, and is now a proud owner of four new oversized blouses and two pairs of leggings that l _ook_ like jeans, but are in fact supplied with a very forgiving waistband. He doesn’t know how he feels about wearing loose clothing yet, but so far, he’s satisfied with his new style. 

When Louis and Steve stroll out of the studio, Harry gets out to greet them. It’s been at least a few weeks since he’s seen Steve, and while Louis is certainly closer to him, he still considers Steve a close friend.

Steve pulls him into a hug once they’re close enough, slapping his back happily.

“Harry, my man, you look fantastic!” he exclaims upon seeing Harry. “You’re practically glowing!”

Harry blushes. When he had looked it up online, he had discovered that not everyone gets the infamous pregnancy glow, so he hadn’t wanted to hold onto false hope.

“Hi, Steve, thank you,” he replies and reaches around him to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “Productive session, you two?”

Steve groans. “Your man,” he points an accusatory finger at Louis, “just wrote the soppiest lyrics. The song’s called _I Want To Write You A Song_ and I have no idea how we’re gonna make it into a dance tune. It’s brilliant, but hell, man, that’s some next level shit,” Steve laughs, but it’s kind. “Can’t imagine what he’s gonna be like when you actually have a baby, this is already borderline father-like,” he huffs.

Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis as if to say ‘ _Did you lose the bet yet?’_ but Louis just shakes his head and smiles coyly.

“I just have a lot to say,” he says to Steve instead.

Steve laughs at him in a way that shows he doesn’t quite believe him but doesn’t argue back.

“You sure do,” he agrees. “Well, I’ve got kiddos of my own to get back to, but it was good to see you, Harry,” he squeezes his shoulder lightly. “Tommo, see you tomorrow?”

Louis confirms, and once they fist bump goodbye, Harry leads him to the car. They stop by a local burger place per Harry’s craving and make small talk about their respective days all the way home. Harry wants to ask about the song Steve mentioned, but he doesn’t push it. He knows that, as always, when Louis is ready, he’ll share it with Harry.

That moment comes earlier than Harry predicted. In fact, they’ve only just finished their dinner and an episode of Scooby Doo when Louis starts wiggling around on the sofa to get at his back pocket. Harry’s first instinct is to nod and think ‘ _I, too, would grab my bum randomly if I was Louis_ ’ but then he sees a folded piece of paper between his fingers.

“So, uh, the song today that Steve mentioned?” Louis begins, unfolding the paper and handing it to Harry. “I thought you might like to see the lyrics.”

Harry gratefully takes it and scans his eyes over the text scribbled on it. Some of it is messy and some is blacked out, but with a little effort Harry can make out what is clearly meant to be the final lyrics.

I wanna lend you my coat  
One that's as soft as your cheek  
So when the world is cold  
You'll have a hiding place you can go  
I wanna lend you my coat 

I wanna build you a boat  
One as strong as you are free  
So any time you think that your heart is gonna sink  
You know it won't  
I wanna build you a boat

I wanna write you a song  
One to make your heart remember me  
So any time I'm gone  
You can listen to my voice and sing along  
I wanna write you a song  
I wanna write you a song

Harry reads over the words slowly, each new line making his throat feel tighter and tighter. He has always known Louis has a way with words, has had numerous songs written to him and about him that have made his heart clench, but something about reading the words meant for their future son or daughter has his heart melting to a whole another degree.

He doesn’t realise he’s sniffling and there are tears threatening to spill over until Louis is in his space, one hand on his cheek and the other on his thigh.

“That bad, huh?” he jokes once Harry tears his gaze away from the piece of paper. Harry sort of wants to slap him for making stupid jokes at a time like this, but also cuddle him for the rest of his life. 

“Lou, it’s so pretty,” he says shakily, and then a tear does make its way down his cheek. Louis wipes it off quickly but lets Harry go on. “They’re gonna be so embarrassed when they’re a teenager that you wrote this about them. I love it, Louis. It’s so beautiful,” he says and buries his face in Louis’ shoulder. Louis wraps his arms around him and holds him, one hand coming up to pet at his hair softly. 

Harry feels a bit funny about reacting so strongly to a song when he’s never expressed this much emotion about Louis writing the soppiest of love songs for him in the past, but he can’t exactly help that his heart might beat out of his chest if he doesn’t tell Louis how much he likes it.

“You’re gonna be such a great father to our baby,” he continues, hiccupping. “I can’t wait to have a million children with you and see how gentle and caring you are with them and how you’ll have a competition on who can pull the best pranks and how you’ll spoil them rotten and how you’ll let them stay up way too late past their bedtimes and how they’ll be better cooks than you at barely ten years old,” Harry mumbles out, unable to stop the words coming out of him involuntarily.

Louis snorts into Harry’s hair at the last bit, but the sound is more comforting than anything. Harry stays like that for another moment until he untangles himself from Louis a bit, wiping at his face.  They stay in comfortable silence for a minute while Harry sniffles out the rest of his feelings and then looks at Louis with wide eyes.

“I don’t know when I became such an emotional wreck,” Harry says to Louis with a little laugh, shaking his head. “I’m really touched, and the lyrics are so heartfelt, but now I’m a bit embarrassed,” he admits. He really wasn’t expecting to spill out his every thought like that.

“That’s fine, babe, not judging you,” Louis ruffles his hair affectionately. Every time he does it, Harry still feels like his seventeen-year-old self who had only just met Louis and whom Louis still thought he had to seduce and flirt with despite them being _literal soulmates_. Louis had always been touching him in one way or another and often played with his hair, ruffling it and tugging at it and combing his fingers through it. It was one of the safest feelings Harry had ever felt back then and it still is now. Always will be. “Maybe it’s the hormones?” he suggests.

“Well, the hormones can go to hell,” Harry huffs out. “It’s not good for me to dehydrate when I’m carrying a baby and it’s still bloody boiling outside.” He looks down at his still largely non-existent belly and taps at it with his finger. “You hear me, cactus baby? You better keep it under wraps.”

“Okay, let’s not threaten our offspring before they’re even born,” Louis says and reaches to move Harry’s accusatory finger away from his stomach. “We’ll save that for when they’re in their pre-teens.”

At that, Harry’s head snaps up from his body to stare at Louis in shock. “Oh, god, they’re gonna grow up and move out soon,” he says, eyes watering again. “Louis, we need to start preparing for empty nest syndrome,” he sighs dramatically, lower lip trembling.

Louis smiles fondly and scoops Harry into his arms.

***

One thing Harry hadn’t counted on when preparing to win the bet was just how hard it was going to be to keep silent while other parents talk about their pregnancies. He’s currently in a hotel, sitting at a restaurant table waiting for Gemma to wrap up her meeting so they can go have lunch. Seated around the table next to him are three women, heavily pregnant and comparing their experiences loudly but cheerily, a pitcher of virgin margaritas sat in the middle.

Harry’s looking on with a vague feeling of jealousy. He knows he’ll have this eventually, will be able to talk about his symptoms and cravings and overall excitement soon enough because he will _physically_ not be able to keep the secret for much longer, but it still ignites a longing deep in the pit of his stomach. He has to stop himself from contributing to their conversation twice, instead sipping at his smoothie impatiently and chewing at the straw. 

It might be that his chair is angled a bit too much towards their table, or that he stops actually pretending to scroll through his phone about five minutes in, but when the ladies get up to leave, Gemma still nowhere in sight, one of them trails behind the other two, and once sufficiently behind, walks a few steps in Harry’s direction.

Harry looks up at her while she kindly scans her eyes over his body, then stops at his heels. They’re the one thing he’s been able to keep from his previous range of clothing that fits, and he plans on wearing them for as long as he can.

“Oh, how I miss the days when I could wear heels,” she sighs forlornly. “Enjoy it while you can. I’d say you have another month and a half–,“ her gaze briefly flickers down to his stomach, “before you’ll be swapping them for trainers and loafers.” She shares another glance with a stunned Harry before winking at him and following her friends out of the bar.

Harry rubs at his tummy in thought. He supposes it doesn’t count if Louis’ not there to witness.

*** 

So. Another thing the hormones are responsible for, Harry discovers when he starts seeing a proper curve to his belly at around four months, is his libido. Between settling into his new routine of peeing every two hours and rubbing lotion all over his body to prevent any stretchmarks, he also learns to think about his dirty socks and his grandmother way more often than he’d like to.

It’s just. He keeps popping boners at the most inappropriate of times, like when he’s queuing at Greggs to get his bacon and cheese wrap and thinks the lady behind the counter will certainly conclude that he has some weird pastry fetish, or when he’s running late to his hospital appointment and really doesn’t have time to talk his suffering dick down.

He once even gets hard after a particularly good cup of coffee – decaf, because god forbid this baby actually let him enjoy his life – and has to drive into work with one foot on the pedal and the other tapping away impatiently, convinced that if he runs another yellow, he’ll have a fine to pay.

The worst one, though, is when he’s having a bath one evening, waiting for Louis to get back from the studio. Judging by the time, it shouldn’t be long now, but Harry’s impatient. He’s had a long, tiresome day, and apparently the heavenly warmth of the water is enough to make the magic happen, his erection filling up quickly.

He opens up Snapchat to send Louis a whiny video, first showing his dissatisfied face and then switching to the front camera, lifting his hips up so just the tip is visible from between the bubbles and wrapping a hand around himself before ending the recording. He captions it “not as fun without you” before pressing send, except. Except Niall chooses that moment to send him a WhatsApp message, something about a football game or something, so Harry concentrates extra hard on not sending it to Niall. And then, with Niall’s name in his mind, he accidentally sends it to Niall.

As soon as he sees the loading screen turn into an arrow to show it’s sent, he wants the bath to swallow him whole, or maybe for some higher power to come and reverse all of time so he can save some face, or maybe Snapchat’s inventor’s phone number so they can release an immediate application update.

While he sits there in the bathtub, contemplating the best way to abandon all humanity and convincing himself that throwing his phone underwater will do absolutely nothing to save the situation, he hears the front door open. Louis must be home just in time to witness Harry’s spiral into madness.

Indeed, not two minutes later, Louis tests the doorknob and, finding it unlocked as Harry left it, lets himself into the bathroom. He’s wearing a threadbare jumper and a snapback, looking like everything Harry and his stupid sex drive have been craving for the past half hour. Judging by the smirk on his lips, he already knows. Harry groans.

Louis sits down onto the ledge of the bathtub and looks at Harry, obviously amused. “Would you like to tell me why Niall has just texted me asking if this is our weird way of asking him for a threesome?” he asks patiently, lips quirked up.

Harry just whines at him, at a loss for words. He doesn’t know how to avoid ending up in a situation where Louis will make fun of him for this for ages, even though he already knows that’s exactly how it’ll end up.

“He says no, by the way,” Louis adds when Harry still doesn’t reply, instead preferring to stay silent in his embarrassment. “Also sent me an interesting screenshot,” Louis presses on, clearly struggling to hold in his laughter. “He says he thinks it was meant for me.”

“Oh, god,” Harry breathes out, biting at his lip. He deflates and starts giggling then. He knows Niall will get over it, maybe won’t be able to look him in the eye for a week, but in the end, he’s always easy going about these things. Still doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t want to undo it. “I just wanted to give you some more incentive to get home quick, but then he texted me and my mind short circuited and I was trying so hard _not_ to send it to Niall that I actually did. It was a whole video, too, not just whatever screenshot he sent you,” he explains between bursts of laughter.

Louis join him, crinkles forming by his eyes as he lets a wide smile take over his face, eyes twinkling in the low light. “Well, I always knew you had an exhibitionist streak in you, but I’d prefer we keep Niall out of these things in the future.”

Harry nods dutifully, his cheeks hurting from smiling so widely. “Ooh, afraid Niall will steal your man?” he jokes, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner.

Louis, bless him, plays along. “Absolutely. Can’t trust that Irish charm of his,” he says. “Dragging you to the park to ‘ _seduce a girl_?’“ He makes finger quotes. “Just a ploy to hang out with you. I know his filthy ways.”

Then, Louis intertwines Harry’s fingers with his own and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Ready with the bath? It might have put Niall off, but I rather enjoyed what I saw,” he intones, supporting Harry’s weight when Harry gets to his feet and steps out of the bath. He catches Louis’ eyes roaming his body, and when their eyes meet, he’s right back to where he was before he had sent that Snapchat.

“Like what you see?” he asks, mostly for humorous purposes, but when Louis continues staring at him intensely, it sets a fire burning deep in his belly.

“So much,” he answers earnestly and moves to place a hand on Harry’s now well-rounded belly. It’s a surprise no one has full out asked him if he’s pregnant yet. “Pregnancy looks good on you.”

Harry pecks him on the lips quickly. “Alright, you kinky thing. Let me just drain the tub and I’ll be right behind you,” he pushes Louis gently out towards the bedroom and turns around to unplug the bathtub.

“Under me, more like,” he hears before Louis exits the room. He rolls his eyes and follows him.

***

Harry has it all planned out. He’s now so far along that if he so much as shifts the wrong way, his bump becomes visible all the way to space, which means he doesn’t have much time. He needs Louis to let it slip out soon, or otherwise he will lose the bet, and he most certainly does not intend to lose the bet.

They’ve gathered for a small get together, his family and Louis’, half of the family playing volleyball and half sitting at a table on the veranda, drinking and having a chat while waiting for Robin and Dan to finish up with the barbecue.

So the plan, which Harry personally thinks is genius if not a tad simple (he’s been watching a lot of murder mysteries lately – if he’s learnt one thing, it’s to always keep it simple), is to play to Louis’ one weakness: his care and concern for Harry. Earlier in the day he went to Sainsbury’s to buy a bottle of white grape juice, which he’s currently sipping at and pretending it’s wine. 

It wasn’t particularly easy to sneak past Anne, but once she had needed the loo, he had quickly made his way to the kitchen and substituted his wine glass for one with grape juice in it, hiding the bottle behind the sink and leaving the wine bottle in plain sight of onlookers, and most importantly, Louis. He’s yet to notice it, but Harry is sure it’s only a matter of time.

Gemma is sitting opposite him, telling some story about the new sous chef who puts too much garlic into every dish. She’s gesturing wildly, and Harry and Anne are dutifully nodding along, sitting side by side. Louis is teaching one of his sisters, Fizzy, how to properly serve without hurting her palm, and it look like they’re about to have a break soon.

In the end, it happens at the same time. Gemma, passionately explaining how some lady had complained about her dish because of it, reaches just a bit too far with her hand and sends Harry’s glass falling down onto the table, shattering into pieces and spilling its contents onto Harry’s white blouse. It draws the attention of everyone nearby, and most importantly that of Louis, who’s conveniently passing by the table to get inside. It actually fits Harry’s plan that he whips his head around at a moment’s notice, exclaiming “Harry, you shouldn’t be drinking while pregnant!” if not for Anne. As the wine spills out on Harry’s sleeve, effectively painting it see-through and exposing the very noticeably pregnant Hazel to his mum’s scrutiny, she grabs his arm in a vice-like grip, gasping.

“Harry Edward Styles, surely you’re not pregnant and didn’t tell us!”

Silence falls over the whole family, everyone staring at Harry. It all happens so quickly, within no more than three seconds, that it takes a moment for it to dawn on Harry that the secret’s out. He guiltily meets his mum’s gaze, smiling hesitantly, and then turns to Louis.

Not knowing what else to say, he confesses to Louis. “Grape juice. It’s white grape juice.”

Louis looks at him. He looks back. They share a soft, private smile between them before Harry returns to face his mother. She is clearly near tears, but there’s a stormy edge to her expression.

When he looks to find Jay, standing with the volleyball in her hands, her mouth is wide open and her expression is not far off of Anne’s.

He clears his throat and feels familiar hands come to rest on his shoulders, squeezing and comforting him.

“I’m pregnant,” he confesses, voice much steadier than he feels. “Surprise?” 

Silence prevails for a moment more until Anne sets into motion, carefully placing her wine glass down and promptly throwing her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, darling, I’m so happy!” she says into his ear, squeezing him. There’s something suspiciously moist dripping onto his neck and he has a strong inkling she’s crying. They stay like that for a while until she jumps up a bit in her seat, realising something. She climbs off of her seat and switches places with Jay who’s giving Louis the same motherly treatment. Harry accepts Jay’s hug just as enthusiastically.

“You two are on official warning,” Jay points a finger at Louis and Harry once they disentangle. “You’re how many months along, now? Shame on you, keeping your mothers in the dark,” she chastises.

“And the families!” Gemma adds from the other side of the table.

“And the families,” Jay agrees. “How long has this been going on for?”

“Five months,” Harry admits, finding Louis’ touch again.

“And your bump? Hazel looks well rounded, I should say,” Anne interjects, coming closer and rolling up Harry’s sleeve to have a look at his soulmate tattoo. His deer blink up at them, Leo licking behind Hazel’s ear when a small crowd forms around them, mostly consisting of their mothers, but also Louis’ younger twin siblings, Ernie and Doris.

“Can we see yours, too?” Ernie asks, tugging at Louis’ jumper relentlessly. Louis dutifully rolls up his sleeve as well, letting them see a near identical copy. They’re both lying down, the smaller one curled around the bigger, heavier deer, a cactus by their side. Heaven’s sake.

“Why does the belly show more on your tattoo?” Doris asks, petting the pregnant deer’s belly. The deer makes a slight movement, as if to nuzzle back at the finger.

Instead of answering, Harry lifts up his shirt, allowing the full expanse of his belly to show. His mum instantly presses her hand to it, as do each of the younger twins.

“Deer don’t have clothes to hide their bumps,” Louis clarifies for their benefit. “Plus, Harry’s tummy muscles make it that the bump doesn’t grow as fast.” The twins nod in unison.

They take a while to accept the congratulations of the rest of the family and field any questions they have, Harry obediently doing a tour and letting everyone feel up his stomach despite telling them that ‘ _No, he hasn’t felt the baby move or kick yet’_. Jay asks them a multitude of health-related questions, inquiring after both Harry and the baby, and Lottie demands they name the baby after her whether it’s a boy or a girl.

When the conversation moves on from the pregnancy and they settle down to have a meal, Louis takes a seat next to Harry. He bumps his knee against Harry’s gently, a movement Harry has come to interpret as Louis wanting his attention. Sure enough, when he turns to him, Louis is already looking back.

“White grape juice, huh?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

 Harry takes his time dipping his piece of burger into ketchup and chewing it thoughtfully.

“Yep.” He pops the P, biting at his lip to keep some sort of a poker face intact. It’s useless, of course, they know all of each other’s ticks and gives by now, but Harry won’t go down without a fight. Or a fluke. Whatever.

“And it just happened to be in a wine glass? Not a water glass?” Louis presses, seeing straight through Harry. 

Harry shrugs fake nonchalantly, feeling himself turn a shade pinker, his cheeks heating up under Louis’ insistent gaze.

“Apparently so." 

Louis hums lowly in response and then chuckles. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway.” When Harry looks at him in confusion, he adds. “Since we both lost.”

“You lost! I won. What do you mean we both lost?” Harry asks in quick succession, offended that Louis first failed to acknowledge the genius of his plan and is now discrediting him.

“I might have shouted to everyone you’re pregnant, but you did your part,” Louis elaborates. “It’s a draw.”

“What? Mine was an accident! It wasn’t like I made Gemma knock out and break my glass,” Harry pouts.

“Should have covered up your tattoo better,” Louis winks at him and digs into his food like he hasn’t just completely disrespected the conditions of their bet.

***

“Are you just gonna sit there?”

Harry nods at Louis, sipping at his virgin margarita, legs propped up and caressing his stomach. He’s indeed had to swap his heels for some comfier loafers, but he thinks the ladies had been onto something with the virgin margarita thing.

It’s made even better by Louis struggling in front of him when he doesn’t have to lift a finger.

“Do you at least have to livestream it to Lottie?” Louis huffs out, crouched on the floor. He really looks like he has no idea what to do next, or how to start, rather. He’s been sitting in the same position for twenty minutes now. Harry finds it very amusing.

“Oh, most definitely,” Harry affirms. He glances at Lottie, who is sipping at her own (very much alcoholic) margarita on the screen. She’s already on her second one, and Louis is no closer to finishing than he was when Harry first dialled her. He has a strong suspicion she will be at least very strongly tipsy by the time Louis’ done. 

“Can you at least tell me what I should do next?” Louis asks, twirling a pole in his hand. He looks beyond puzzled, and if Harry were a kinder man, he would take pity on him. As it is, he doesn’t. Louis had his own fun yesterday with his side of the winning bet. 

“Wouldn’t know how to help you even if I wanted to,” he answers him, taking another sip.

Louis shoots him an evil look from the floor, looking adorable, but also like he’d bite Harry’s hand off if he tried to touch him.

“I’m divorcing you,” he mutters, but continues to assess the pole. Once he clearly decides he’s not happy with it, he puts it down and grabs another one. It’s identical. He curses under his breath, then moves to inspect a square wooden piece.

“I’m not even sure this one goes anywhere,” Louis splutters when he has a better look at it. “I swear, Harry, they packed it in on accident for a fool like me to suffer over.” 

Harry has a look at the complete picture of the crib. It’s included completely rightfully and is in fact the first piece to be put together with one of the poles, not that he’s about to tell Louis that. Instead, he watches on as Louis lines up the two poles and screws them together, creating one incredibly long side pole. ‘ _Are we having a giant baby?’_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he chooses to have a giggle with Lottie instead.

He picks up the instructions manual off of the armrest under the backsides of his knees and shows Lottie the correct order of putting the crib together.

“Stop fraternising with my sister, Tomlinson,” Louis complains. “It’s bad enough you’re making me do this, you know I’m a hopeless cannot-build-for-shit gay, but without instructions? I’m practically doomed.”

Harry shares another laugh with Lottie over the phone. “You should have thought of that before you named my baby deer,” Harry retorts.

It’s Louis’ turn to smile now. Harry wants him back to miserable. “Herberta is a perfectly sensible name, and it sounds nice next to Hazel,” Louis insists, but even as he says it, he can’t help but laugh.

“Herberta and I will move to Greenland and live among reindeer if you don’t piece together this crib,” Harry shoots back.

Louis sighs but gets back to work. Harry watches as he connects the square board to the two poles and then gets out his hammer. Lottie stifles a laugh.

“Hold on, I’m gonna have to top up before you start this,” Harry warns him, then makes a beeline for the kitchen where his margarita pitcher stands nearly full. He narrows his eyes at it in thought, then decides to find an extra-long straw and, biting it between his teeth, carries the whole pitcher into the nursery, settling down in his previous seat.

“Glad you’re having a good time,” Louis says, and then he starts hammering away. Harry nearly chokes from laughter when he realises Louis is nailing together one of the bottom drawers and the canopy support.

They pass the next hour similarly, Harry making teasing comments about Louis’ lack of building skills and Louis throwing out colourful threats and pitiful whines in reply. He doesn’t make much headway on the crib, but he earnestly tries, which fills Harry’s heart. Lottie gets a whole four cocktails in before she has to end the call, saying she has to run errands, and they bid their goodbyes, Louis reluctantly waving at her.

When Louis has used up all of the screws and nails, but still inexplicably has two side boards left, he calls it a day and dramatically flops down onto the floor, star fished in front of the half-built crib.

Harry carefully places his nearly empty pitcher down next to the armchair and hops down off of it. He walks over to Louis and, slowly arranging his limbs and huge six-month baby bump, sits down onto Louis’ stomach.

Louis takes his hands in his and intertwines their fingers on top of his stomach, rising and falling with each breath.

“I tried my best?” It comes out as a question, Louis looking a mix of guilty and exhausted.

 “Thank you, darling,” Harry says, and smiles down at him. “Funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

Louis chuckles at him. “What will our baby sleep in? The nursery was meant to be perfect, and now I’ve gone and fucked up the crib. Please don’t make me take it apart, I think I even superglued something,” Louis pleads.

“Well, I sort of may have predicted this,” Harry says slowly. “So there may or may not be a brand new, put together crib arriving tomorrow,” he confesses.

“You had no faith in me!” Louis accuses him, but his face shows nothing but mirth.

“I had every faith in you doing your best,” Harry assures him. “Your talents just aren’t necessarily in the construction sector.”

For a second, Louis looks like he might protest, but eventually he just squeezes Harry’s fingers gently, a fond expression taking over his face.

“No? And where are they, then?” Louis asks him. 

Harry considers saying something playful, like the naming department or getting attached to cacti (which is still going strong on Louis’ tattoo, despite the baby now being terrarium sized according to the website), but in the end he settles for the soppiest, most honest answer he can think of.

“In taking care of me,” he moves their intertwined hands to his round tummy. “Taking care of us.”

Louis smiles up at him and then, in an impressive show of abdominal strength, leans up to kiss Harry, deep and slow.

Harry supposes that’s his way of telling them that they take care of Louis, too.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's one thing I want you to take from this fic, it's that gherkins in honey are delicious. Try it and come thank me. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
